


Apart

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Series: DouWata 30 Day OTP Challenge [15]
Category: xxxHoLic
Genre: Desire, M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd been staying at the shop for three nights now, too busy to get away, and it wasn't really a surprise that having no other escape from the torment of loving someone who would never love in return was altering his control.</p><p>Desire was fickle, and sometimes the most effective course of action was to simply give in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Self-prompted idea: Desire
> 
> Something about Doumeki and self pleasure over Watanuki never loving him back intrigues me. I would totally be down if someone took the idea and made it really porny, but I'm no good at that.
> 
> I do not own _xxxHolic_. Thanks for reading!

Desire was a fickle friend, and there were times when even the most stoic fell victim to its clutches.

Doumeki Shizuka was not unaware of desire, and certainly not uncomprehending, given that he had spent the better part of five years constantly by the side of the one person he did desire.

It was merely more of the fact that Doumeki didn't act on it. Not only would he risk ruining the relationship that they had so tenuously built - and he couldn't risk that now, not when he was the only person who would visit Watanuki in the shop each day - but it would be a wish. A wish that Watanuki would have to grant, out of obligation more than willingness, and the price that they would both have to pay would be far too much to bear.

But there were moments where control lapsed, and Doumeki spent more than just a fraction of a second thinking about it. A fraction of a second was all that he could afford regularly, lest he drive himself mad, but now and then, he was helpless to the call of provoking thoughts and dangerous whim, and his body behaved in traitorous ways that he was loathe - and excited - to tend.

He breathed in deeply, the smell of incense, and tobacco smoke, and an all-consuming scent of Watanuki, and folded his hands in his lap, over the borrowed kimono, over his clothed erection, and let out the breath slowly, shakily, and closed his eyes.

He'd been staying at the shop for three nights now, too busy to get away, and it wasn't really a surprise that having no other escape from the torment of loving someone who would never love in return was altering his control.

Desire was fickle, and sometimes the most effective course of action was to simply give in.

Doumeki pressed the heel of his hand against his erection, inhaling too sharply, and didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to see, and more often than not, didn't need to feel. Yet he did, and he would, and so he shall, just tonight, just for now, while Watanuki allegedly slept in the other room.

Once in awhile, he could delude himself into believing that he was allowed to fantasize, that he was permitted the luxury of giving into his own desires. Once in awhile, and only then.

It was positively sinful, the clothes that Watanuki wore and the way that he spoke, and smoked, and languished around the shop. Yuuko had done very much the same thing, but the mysterious cloud that had shrouded her had never affected Doumeki in the way that the silks falling from Watanuki's shoulder to expose his otherwise bare chest could. His milky white skin and prominent collarbones, begging to be kissed and licked and bitten, had nothing on a woman's breasts, and Doumeki wondered, beneath the hairless chest and smooth stomach, what Watanuki was hiding beneath the folds of those yukata, and how much Doumeki wanted to explore it.

He pushed his own kimono aside, slipping his hand beneath the fabric.

For a moment, he could imagine that it was Watanuki reaching beneath his clothes, wrapping nimble fingers around his arousal, inexplicably knowledgeable about this as much as he was everything else. Completely omniscient, and sophisticated not only in word but touch as well.

The gasp fell from Doumeki's lips unbidden. He raised his free hand to his mouth, pressing his hand against his lips, skin against the thousands of nerves there.

If it were Watanuki, his skin there, his soft lips against Doumeki's, it would much be the same thing: warmth, and pressure, but with more movement, and _of course_ he had thought about kissing Watanuki. Taking the breath right out of his mouth when he complained about a lack of groceries, or a client, or in the way that he used to yell at him in disbelief or anger. How Doumeki longed to swallow Watanuki's words, to taste them on his lips and chase them with his tongue. Not just his words, not just his lips, but his skin, his body, and his soul. He needed to taste it for himself, just once, perhaps, to let him know that Watanuki was there, and he was there also, and that they were together and going to stay as such.

Doumeki bit against his knuckles, tasting his own skin and swallowing his own moan.

How effortlessly Watanuki could take control of a relationship now, or a casual encounter as such, and how Doumeki could just as easily fall into that submissive state, allowing the shopkeeper to do whatever he wished with his lips, his tongue, his hands, or...

He could taste blood against his tongue.

 _Watanuki, Watanuki, Watanuki_. His name was a lament and a curse, chanting through his head in an imagined mantra. He could beg, and plead, against the body against his, pressed flush against his chest, hips rocking against his, and the electrifying - terrifying - jolt of pleasure - pain - shooting through his body. He wanted, and needed. _Watanuki_.

He didn't dare let himself speak his name out loud, for any sound that left his mouth would be unconsciously inappropriate, so he bit harder into his own skin, heart pounding, head throbbing, body coiled up tight in anticipation. He pressed his shoulders against the wall, tipping his head back.

 _Breathe, Shizuka_ , he ordered himself, _breathe_.

 _Shizuka, Shizuka, Shizuka._ The voice in his head wasn't his own. It wasn't even normal, but laced over with lust and passion, and merely over and over again, his given name from Watanuki's lips as the man slid Doumeki's kimono away from his shoulders to let it fall haphazardly onto the ground, following suit as he sank to his knees in front of Doumeki, and Doumeki's fingers tangled in dark hair as he was engulfed in warmth, gasped again and held on tightly, so tightly

until it wasn't an option any longer, holding everything back, emotion and action and _desire_ , as it snapped forth in a cataclysmic surge, shaking him down to his barest core, leaving him gasping, trembling, and overly more emotional than he wanted to be in this situation.

Doumeki let his hand fall away from his mouth, ignoring the blood dripping down his skin. His teeth had done a number on his knuckles, but better the pain than the noise. He didn't deserve any of this, and he needed the pain to bring him back to the present. He needed the pain to keep him sane, to keep him grounded.

Both of his hands were sticky, his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his mouth tasted like old pennies. He would have to move, soon, shortly, when his heart stopped beating so quickly, when the heat had left his face and when he could stand without trembling. He swallowed against the upsurge of sorrow and battered it away; he had Watanuki to face in the morning, and he couldn't let things change just because of his desires.

 

 

 

"You've done something to your hand."

Doumeki glanced at the bandaging against his own hand, and then looked back at Watanuki's uninterested gaze. He wasn't particularly flustered at the attention to the self-made wound from last night, although he wasn't unfeeling on the sudden conversation.

Watanuki reached out lazily, tracing two fingers against the bandages. "What have you done this time?" he asked absently, unaware of the prickle of wanting that rushed through Doumeki's veins.

Doumeki steeled himself, and responded in an even voice. "Nothing."

He would rather it be nothing than something, if nothing meant that they could continue as they were. It was preferable to breaking everything to pieces, preferable to the something that could have been if things were different. They weren't different, though, and so _nothing_ was the correct response.

"Lying bastard," Watanuki said, although he didn't sound critical as he might have years ago. "Don't injure yourself when you're meant to help me with a job today."

"Right," Doumeki said evenly.

No, Watanuki couldn't know of Doumeki's attention, because if he did, things would change. And as much as Doumeki loved the man he now not only had befriended but worked for as well, he wouldn't risk their relationship for the sake of that fickle thing called desire.

Sometimes, nothing was better than something, Doumeki thought, as his fingers brushed Watanuki's as he took the saké he was offered. Sometimes, nothing could be very good in itself.

 


End file.
